And then there’s another kind of anonymity. The anonymity of sex. Sex with a stranger. Intimacy without the intimacy, as it were. To think there used to be days when people were escorted on dates by parents and loved ones, and the date consisted merely of a stroll around someone’s yard, with kissing and hand-holding prohibited. And now? Now all it takes is a look, a brief touch–seemingly casual–and the signal is clear: sex is on.

Sometimes we send the signals without even being aware. We’re so saturated in sex that we don’t realize that offering someone of the opposite a completely platonic drink is now the same as asking if they’d prefer ribbed or “Rough Rider” condoms when the escapade in the parking lot later transpires–hot and sticky in 98% humidity, the air about to explode with moisture the same way she will pressed up against the door of a dirty Toyota Turcel, her dress hiked up around her waist, trying to attempt looking the stranger with whom she’s copulating in the eyes.

No eye contact. That’s the new rule. We’ve applied the rules “Pretty Woman” gave us for avoiding intimacy (“no kissing on the mouth”) to casual sex, and added “no eye contact” to further remain anonymous. It makes sense, really. After all, the eyes are supposedly windows to the soul and no one is supposed to see anyone’s soul when it comes to anonymous sex.

We’ve got it down to a science, actually. All it takes is a “wink” or a “note” on some seedy, completely unregulated social networking site, followed by the exchange of numbers, and then a five- to ten-minute conversation where a “date” is arranged. If the date is during the day and in public, then it’s a legitimate date. The more common option, however, is to be after dark, in a crowded club, the time and setting making it clear that this is not so much a date as it is a meeting place before the rendezvous. A time to see if the picture on the site was accurate (or close enough), to see if there’s any glaring hygiene issues, or if a lack of sanity is apparent during another cursory review.

If all that comes back relatively clean (I say “relatively” because a few yellow, orange, or even red flags can go unheeded for the sake of a hookup), then no time is wasted before one party (generally the man) suggests coming back to his place to “listen to music” or “watch DVDs” or “check out his vintage magazine collection”. Some skip all the pretense and flat out say “Your place or mine?”

And all this culminates in groping hands, mere silhouettes of bodies and flesh and clothes being flung off (anonymous sex is lights-off), heavy breathing, primal grunts, ripping of panties and condom wrapper, sucking of lips and ears and maybe a little biting, shoving of organs into orifices into barely-wet canals, clumsy humping and tumbling, and finally a hard-fought release. A release so brief in its bliss you may as well have snorted a line or sucked a blunt to get the same fleeting pleasure. Anonymous sex is, after all, the “it” drug right now. The quickest way to oblivion and the easiest on the lungs.

But, just like acid, flashbacks are inevitable. And just like smoking, the damage to the heart is long-term. And just like ecstasy, such a state of mental Eden is bound to be followed by an unimaginable low. I can’t help but think that anonymous sex is self-medicating the symptoms of a problem everyone’s too scared to face…

who’s looking? Counterfake is a concept magazine founded to showcase and generate socially and aesthetically challenging work. We need a freelance graphic designer, initially the mastermind behind our magazine’s look, and if all goes well, a project-by-project consultant. Counterfake is currently working on a series of mixtapes, podcasts, short films and apparel. Ideal: Someone who’d be interested in becoming a member.

Contact feit at counterfake dot net to set up an interview! Internship and school credit possible. Reward negotiable.

who’s looking? Counterfake is a collective founded to showcase and generate socially and aesthetically challenging work. We need a freelance sound engineer, initially the mastermind behind our mixtape, and if all goes well, a project-by-project consultant. Counterfake is currently working on a series of mixtapes, podcasts, short films and apparel. Ideal: Someone who’d be interested in becoming a member.

Contact feit at counterfake dot net to set up an interview! Internship and school credit possible. Reward negotiable.

who’s looking? Counterfake.net is a concept magazine founded to showcase and generate socially and aesthetically challenging work. We need a freelance web designer, initially the mastermind behind a complete overhaul of our look, and if all goes well, a project-by-project consultant. Counterfake is currently working on a series of mixtapes, podcasts, short films and apparel. Ideal: Someone who’d be interested in becoming a member.

Contact feit at counterfake dot net to set up an interview! Internship and school credit possible. Reward negotiable.

This hooker is as hot out of drag as she is IN it! Work those dance moves for a Counterfake video, will ya?

…because of Columbus’s exaggerated report and promises, his second expedition was given seventeen ships and more than twelve hundred men. The aim was clear: slaves and gold. They went from island to island in the Caribbean, taking Indians as captives. But as word spread of the Europeans’ intent they found more and more empty villages. On Haiti, they found that the sailors left behind at Fort Navidad had been killed in a battle with the Indians, after they had roamed the island in gangs looking for gold, taking women and children as slaves for sex and labor.

Now, from his base on Haiti, Columbus sent expedition after expedition into the interior. They found no gold fields, but had to fill up the ships returning to Spain with some kind of dividend. In the year 1495, they went on a great slave raid, rounded up fifteen hundred Arawak men, women, and children, put them in pens guarded by Spaniards and dogs, then picked the five hundred best specimens to load onto ships. Of those five hundred, two hundred died en route. The rest arrived alive in Spain and were put up for sale by the archdeacon of the town, who reported that, although the slaves were “naked as the day they were born,” they showed “no more embarrassment than animals.” Columbus later wrote: “Let us in the name of the Holy Trinity go on sending all the slaves that can be sold.”